Page 16 of Duke
She’s playing hard to get. But I also wonder if maybe she’s not playing, that she really is that hard to get. I mean, that’s fine. Better, even, because then it means she has standards and that I meet them. Or maybe she’s scared of getting with me for some reason? I don’t know. I just don’t know. And the curiosity and doubt is killing me.
What’s killing me more is how fucking hot she is. Those tits? Goddamn. I got a lace-obscured glimpse when I relieved her of her shirt, and that was enough to leave me salivating for more. And that mouth? Her mouth is, literally and metaphorically, something I could get hooked on: literally, her mouth is just beautiful, plump red lips in a perfect cupid’s bow, a quick, easy, sassy smile…god, I’ve got visions of that mouth wrapped around my cock running through my head the longer I’m around her; and metaphorically, her mouth…her sass, her attitude, her comebacks—those turn me on just as hard. I bet she talks dirty, like nasty dirty.
I wonder if she’s bossy in bed, or passive? She’s got that attitude, that arrogance of a girl who’s been beyond spoiled her whole life, so I want to think she’s bossy, but sometimes those are the ones who end up being the most submissive when you get ‘em naked. I don’t mean submissive in a dom/sub way, just as an aside. I don’t do that shit; it’s just not for me. I don’t mind pain, but I don’t get off on it, whether receiving or causing. I mean, if a chick begs me to spank her or blindfold her or something, that’s one thing, but whips and gags and bondage, shit like that? Nah. I’ll take a good old-fashioned fucking, thanks.
She stood behind me as I sorted through my selection of handguns. I had any number to choose from, but I had some old standby favorites: the Sig Sauer was great as a hideout, so that one would go on my ankle; the Glock, of course, but I also liked the Beretta, and a nice big fuckoff Desert Eagle was always good for intimidation value…
The Desert Eagle was stupidly enormous, and distractingly loud, and hard to carry enough ammo for, so that’s staying behind. The Glockandthe Beretta in twin shoulder holsters—the Glock in the left holster, Beretta in the right—with the Sig as a backup, and the HK as the main.
Grenades? Um, probably not, since shit was likely to happen in populated areas.
Ah, don’t forget the KA- BAR.
Three spare mags for each pistol meant my shorts pockets were…a little full, plus two backups for the HK in my back pocket…
I got the shoulder holsters arranged, settled the pistols in the holsters, set the HK on top of a case, and turned around to face Temple.
“Think I’m overdoing the weapons?” I asked.
She just blinked at me. “Um.” Her gaze flicked from pistol to pistol, then to the HK, then to my sagging pockets, and then the Sig on my ankle, just above my combat boots. “Maybe a little?”
I frown. “Right. Lose the ankle holster, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a little obvious, don’t you think?”
I glanced down. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
I unstrapped the Sig and put it back, then grabbed the KA-BAR. It’d have to go on my belt, as it was too big for a pocket. I unbuckled my belt and whipped it off so I could thread the leather through the sheath.
Of course, without the belt to hold up my shorts, they sagged, being full of magazines. The sagging of my shorts left me showing…a little skin, let’s say. Yeah, I go commando. Easy access, and more comfy. Underwear is stupid. Boxers are too much fabric, too loose, and uncomfortable, and briefs or boxer briefs are just too damn tight. They constrict my shit, and that’s just cruel. No underwear? No problem. Just my style, you know? The issue is that I was still rocking a semi hard-on from having my finger inside Temple’s pussy.
God, she tasted good.
And bang, that one thought had my dick going all the way hard.
And it was sticking out the top of my sagging cargo shorts, showing the first couple of inches, and my tight T-shirt wasn’t doing much to hide it. Or, anything, actually.
Temple’s eyes bugged out. “Oh. Um.”
I saw the look in her eyes. Saw the way her thighs pressed together, saw the way she grabbed one hand with the other as if to keep herself from reaching for me.
“Like what you see?”
I’d finished threading the belt through the sheath, so I was left holding the belt in one hand, and my shorts with the other. Let go, and the khakis would be on the ground.
“Nope.” She said this in a calm, unaffected voice, but her tongue flicked out and ran along her lower lip, and her eyes were locked on my cock.
I sidled over to her. “No?” I let the shorts sag a little further, showing another inch of dick. “You don’t wanna see any more?”
She shook her head side to side, but her eyes still hadn’t left my cock. “Nope. Don’t want to see it.”
I stopped when I was a few inches away. “Remember what I said about not playing poker, Fancy?”
Her eyes finally flicked up to mine. “Um. What?”
“You’re a shitty liar, Princess.”
Those eyes, man. Those fucking eyes. Blue as a clear summer sky, with streaks of green and hazel. They searched my eyes, then went to my cock, and then back up to my eyes.